The behaviour of the child grew worse and worse. She would touch everything—usually the thing which Richard was most anxious to have left alone, causing him no little trouble at times to set right what she had spoiled. Her mischief was not even mingled with childish laughter. There was never any sign of frolic on her face, only the steely glitter of her sharp, black-bead eyes, full of malice. Talking to her was not of the slightest use. It was sometimes all Richard could do to keep his hands off her to prevent her from ruining his delicate work. Sometimes she would look as blank as if she did not understand a word he said. At others she would pucker her face up into a grin of derision and contemptuous defiance.

One day when he happened to be using the polishing iron, Vixen, as her brothers aptly called her, came in and began to play with the paste. Richard turned with the iron in his hand, which he had just taken from the brasier. He was rubbing it bright and clear with a cloth. She saw this, but had not seen him take it from the fire. She grabbed at it, trying to spoil it with her pasty fingers. Just as quickly she let go of the burning steel, but did not cry, though her eyes filled with tears. Richard saw, and his heart gave way. He caught the little hand and tried to soothe her pain. She pulled it from him, crying, “You nasty man! How dare you?” and ran to the door where she turned and made a hideous face at him.

That same moment Barbara walked in, saw it, and before Vixen was aware of her presence, dealt the girl such a box on the ear that she burst into a storm of wrathful weeping.

“You’re a brute, Bab!” she cried. “I’ll tell mama!”

“Do, you little wretch!” returned Barbara, whose flushed face looked childlike in its indignation.

The creature left the room sobbing, and Barbara turned and was gone before Richard could thank her. He heard no more of the matter, and for some time had no further trouble with Victoria.

Barbara had the kindest of hearts, but there was nothing soft about her. She considered it a sin to spoil any animal, not to mention a child. If a sharp discipline would make a child or a dog behave better, she was not one to spare it.

14. Wingfold

— Fourteen —

Wingfold

Barbara had more than once or twice heard Mr. Wingfold preach, but she had never listened, or even waked to the fact that she had not listened. She did not dislike going to church, but she liked a good many things better. And as she always did as she liked except when she saw some reason not to, she had gone to church rather seldom. She might perhaps have sooner learned to go regularly but for her mother’s extraordinary behaviour.